Believe
by altairattorney
Summary: [Episode 62 ] You are so beautiful and so smart, then tell me – what am I even doing here?


**Believe**

"Carlos, I'm scared."

"I know."

The sunset always has wonderful colours at midday. In any other situation, Carlos would be focusing on the shades of blue and green, wrong wavelengths in a wronger time and place – he'd struggle to figure out the science of this desert, so foreign and fascinating, still so new.

Any other time would be the right time. Now that he leans against a dune, shaped by Alicia's cushions, and holds his everlasting phone closer to his heart than his ears, the voice on the other side is all that matters in any world.

"I never really minded, before… uh, you know," Cecil stutters. He sounds almost foreign, and downright adorable, when he does that. "I never even thought of anything, most of the time. In Night Vale there is always someone who can do it for you. But-"

"Things have changed, haven't they?"

"They have."

There is a world of meanings in the tone of their voices, even if muffled and warped by the phone call. It astonishes Carlos to think they could get this far without sharing a whole lifetime together.

And even that, he reminds himself, is not completely sure anymore.

"There are somethings, someones, I care about. More than I did in the past. And just now that I realized how easily I can lose them… damn! There is too much I don't remember. A graduation? Could be. A brother? It happens. Reeducation, you know. But actions that take place now? I tried to brush it off when Earl asked me, you know what he is like. I am really scared anyway."

It breaks Carlos to hear him talk so differently. Nothing left of his fluent, soothing voice. He thinks of their home, as empty now as it was new, and of their lazy nights on an old, tattered sofa. His chest is torn by a pang of nostalgia.

"I have been thinking so much. I miss you. I may have forgotten countless things that I used to miss. Even if it is true that I physically belong to someone else, I don't want to forget anything, especially you."

Cecil's voice is almost a plead – it is the soft, high-pitched flow of murmurs that he cannot help when he is desperate. It has grown much more frequent in these last weeks. Carlos' grip on the phone grows steadier, as he tries to comfort his boyfriend in the one way he knows – he speaks back to him, reassuringly, until he can picture his arms and his long legs relax.

He sends him a picture of the new mantle of stars, a rare night-afternoon sky that only belongs to that desert. He sends him a kiss, and promises one hundred more once they meet again. It is at that point, every time he mentions a reunion, that Cecil's words darken.

"I don't know," he moans. "I see no meaning in anything anymore. You are so beautiful and so smart, then tell me – what am I even doing here?"

Some questions, Carlos has learnt, are not predicted by any textbook. A soul that breaks down cannot be weighed or measured, nor is it equal to a solvable problem.

"You are doing what you think is right," he answers, all of his faith flowing through the microphone. "That's the whole truth."

Carlos thinks of himself, on the cooling sand of this unknown promised land, and shivers. In the moments he cannot help thinking about it, it is getting harder and harder to decide what he should do. Even so, he means every word he is saying.

"Do you really think so?" Cecil replies, feebly. "After all the time we spent discussing?"

"It may not be easy to believe, honey, but you have to trust me."

It is his turn to ask for something – once again, an effort. Although it weighs much, and equally on both, it is their one choice. "You are the voice of Night Vale. The place you are in is your hometown. I am a scientist, and I am at work in another dimension. I can't begin explaining how much I regret not being there with you. I see how easy it is for you to think this way – after all that is happening, everything must seem wrong and useless to you. Your whole life feels wrong, doesn't it? Well, look out of the window, and tell me what you can see."

As is normal for him, Cecil complains at first. He sees darkness, as far as his eyes can search the night. But patience is a virtue they are learning together – Carlos forces him to wait, to let his sight adjust.

Soon, he is speaking of neon lights, and of all he can distinguish in their pale, slightly red halo. He describes the luminous signs of the shops, and the faint glow of Big Rico's, far above the rooftops. He describes the garden and the car, the road he greets every morning, on his way to work. Carlos gently leads him in his tale – as the call goes by, Cecil finds memories, jokes, good and bad times to tell.

It truly is the town Cecil loves. In his words, Carlos manages to love it almost equally.

"Out there is the place you are helping make better," Carlos explains, as soon as he can catch his breath. "Every day. Do you really need to know about your past, or to remember every moment of your life? Do you need to be perfect? It doesn't make a difference, sweetie. You are brilliant this way. There are so many people, just out of that window and farther, who love the Cecil Palmer I am talking to now."

"I want you to know me, though. It would be unfair, if… if."

Knowing him, he must be shaking. Carlos feels his throat tighten.

"I don't care if I don't know it all, Cecil. Hey, I don't even care if you don't know it all. You remember I love you the way you are, right?"

His nod is so familiar that Carlos can almost see it. He pictures their bed, with Cecil alone in his garish checked boxers, and smiles as he hasn't done in hours.

"I do," he says. "Not perfect."

Those two words bring back much – many arguments, one promise, lots of love.

"And maybe amnesiac."

"Maybe," Carlos chuckles. "Either way, that's the greatest thing we have, you and I."

He means it. Without Cecil, his ideas of respect and acceptance would never have been rewritten in the way they could. It is a kind of miracle, he guesses – the kind of human miracles Night Vale has let him know.

"We can fight to accomplish something even greater. We have to be strong until we meet again. Cecil?"

"Love?"

The voice of this wonderful man, who sounded so lost mere minutes ago, makes his heart swell.

"Cece, I am so proud of you."

"Me too," he says, completely sincere, yet a bit sloppy in his teary voice. "You are the best boyfriend ever."

He is such a big baby, Carlos thinks with a chuckle. He loves him to levels unknown to science.

"Someone stole my line. Go to sleep, true champion of Night Vale, and rest well. I know you'll make it."

Even far into his loneliness, with the call long gone and the night silent, Carlos does not need to convince himself of that. He knew it was true from and before the start, when Night Vale was just a bizarre name of an unknown town and Cecil wasn't even a dream come true.

From the moment it is born, the future is built on trust.

* * *

 _Dedicated to the truly special person who believed in my writing when it was the worst crap on Earth, not to mention how far from existing in English. Her advice gave me the courage to go on, and is one of the biggest reasons my words could make it to today._

 _It's about time I paid you back._


End file.
